


Spoilt for Choice

by SwissMiss



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dom!John, Edging, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Restraints, Sex Toys, sub!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 05:11:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14993531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwissMiss/pseuds/SwissMiss
Summary: When a case goes poorly, Sherlock needs a distraction. He has a little trouble choosing. John helps him.Written for the Come at Once challenge for the prompt "Hold me tight, or don't".





	Spoilt for Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Special shout-out and thanks to Lorelei-Lee for the quick lookover and advice. Thank you, you're a gem!
> 
> This is still really rough and probably has errors and inconsistencies in it. I'm posting at 1:30 am, so will try to clean it up later at some point.
> 
> [Gorgeous cover art by ghislainem70](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15001613). Thank you, it's perfect!

John walked quietly into the bedroom. It smelled of sweat and musk and the distant funk of river water John had never been able to find the source of. The lights were dimmed. It wasn't quite six p.m., but it got dark early this time of year. John had left just the desk lamp on before they started, angling it toward the wall to keep the illumination low and diffuse.

He sat down carefully on the bed. "How you doing?" he asked, keeping his voice low and calm because this was for Sherlock. Sherlock needed this.

On his back beside John, Sherlock was entirely naked. He had his eyes squeezed shut and he was breathing rapidly through his nose, his lips clenched in a furl of concentration. His elbows were pointed toward the ceiling, or as near as he could get them with his wrists restrained on either side of his head. His entire body was tensed like a bow. From somewhere, a muted, low-pitched mechanical buzzing sounded.

"Sherlock?" John prompted when Sherlock didn't answer after several seconds. "You're going to have to answer me. How are you doing?" John had left him alone for a few minutes so he could focus, let the sensations pull him under without his radar circling toward John as it tended to do. Later, it would be about the two of them together, but for now, Sherlock needed to get out of his head. Needed John to help him find that balance.

Sherlock's head rocked from side to side and his knees fell open as far as the spreader bar between his ankles allowed. The movement tugged slightly on the chain joining the bar to the nipple clamps, and Sherlock cried out a little and brought his knees quickly back together and scooted his heels a little closer to his arse to give himself some slack again.

"Sherlock? Anything hurt?" John gently touched his hand to Sherlock's. His hands were slightly red but nothing unusual, and his nailbeds were a normal, healthy pink. Sherlock grasped John's fingers tight, tighter, and hummed.

"It's good," he mumbled on an exhale.

"What's good? You mean it's good that it hurts?" John asked calmly. "There shouldn't be any pain." He reached over with the hand Sherlock hadn't claimed and slid his finger in underneath both wrist cuffs. They were only a token restraint; Sherlock could easily free himself if he wanted to, but he could also pull against them as hard as he liked and they wouldn't yield. John thought the knowledge of his own control over his submission, and whether to end it, was probably an additional factor to occupy Sherlock's brain. That was what he needed. To think about this, about where he was, what was going on with his body, with him and John. Not the case.

"No, no pain," Sherlock said, then hissed, "Fuck." His hips jerked up and he blinked his eyes open and looked down blearily. His dark red cock bobbed over the sticky gleam of precome smeared across his abdomen. His thighs were shaking. He closed his eyes again and stretched his head back. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispered rapidly, bouncing his pelvis gently as his clenched his arse several times around the vibrating dildo lodged inside him. The movement once again tugged on the nipple clamp chains, and he moaned deep in his throat.

John disengaged his hand from Sherlock's so he could pet his head. "You're doing brilliantly," he said as he smoothed the tangled hair back from Sherlock's face. John struggled to keep his voice steady and soothing, to keep any hint of his own surging arousal out of his tone. "So well," he praised Sherlock. "These not too tight?" John brushed his thumb over one of Sherlock's nipples where it bulged out from between the rubber tips of the clamp. The skin was a healthy pink; the clamps weren't set tight enough to hurt, as long as Sherlock didn't exert too much tension on the chain. The intention was rather to provide a distraction and force him to concentrate, as well as to titillate and arouse through the intermittent stimulation.

Sherlock's breathing became more erratic at John's touch. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, John licked his thumbs and reached over to rub both of Sherlock's nipples at the same time. Sherlock keened, the cords of his neck standing out. John felt his own nipples tightening, echoing a very insistent throbbing in his groin. John rubbed and circled the engorged tissue as Sherlock panted and struggled to maintain control. Or to lose it.

"That's lovely," John said, and this time, his voice came out breathy and just a tiny bit eager. Just a tiny bit covetous.

"John..." Sherlock moaned.

"Yeah, I'm here." Sherlock wasn't ready yet. Not yet. He still needed John to guide him. But he was so tempting when he was like this, so pliant and sensual. John scratched his fingernails lightly across the tips of Sherlock's nipples, first one, then the other. Back and forth. Twisted the clamps. Just a little. Not enough to hurt. Not enough to do anything more than tease.

Sherlock cried out again, weakly. "More..."

It was almost more than John could manage not to rip off the clamps and take those delicate peaks of flesh between his teeth, to suck and pull at them and feel their hard buds on his tongue.

John tamped down his own burgeoning frustration. He needed to be in charge here, maintain a clear head. If he was frustrated, he could only imagine how Sherlock was feeling. "You're doing so well," he said again. "Just a little more. You're almost there. Maybe let me take a peek, though, yeah? Make sure everything's as it should be?" When Sherlock was like this, he didn't always pay attention to all of his body's signals. That was what John was here for.

John reluctantly let go of Sherlock's nipples and moved further down the bed so that he could reach between Sherlock's legs. Sherlock shifted his legs apart again, slowly this time to avoid jostling the chain. If he still had that much control and presence of mind, he really wasn't ready yet, John realised. He could see the broad, round black base of the dildo jutting out from between Sherlock's glistening arse cheeks, slick with the copious amount of lubricant he'd used earlier to insert it. He grasped the gently vibrating device and slowly jiggled it back and forth to see if it was stuck anywhere, but it seemed to be easy enough to dislodge.

As soon as he started moving it, though, Sherlock lifted his arse, vainly rutting into the air. His testicles bulged out tight and red and full underneath the cock ring firmly nestled at the base. The nipple clamp chain pulled taut, and this time Sherlock kept at it, moving his hips up and down to stretch his nipples on purpose. More precome welled up out of the slit of his cock.

"Fuck me, John," Sherlock gasped.

"Hold still a moment, please," John said firmly, stilling Sherlock's hips with one hand, his thumb skimming the skin there in a placating manner. John thought the clamps were loose enough that they wouldn't tear the skin if they did get ripped off, but he didn't want to take the chance. With his other hand, he twisted and tugged at the dildo just enough to pull it out a couple of centimetres. Sherlock's anus was red, the skin stretched tight around the flesh-coloured foreign object, but didn't appear swollen or inflamed. John pulled the buzzing toy out a little more, then stretched forward to reach the tube of lubricant on the nightstand and flipped the cap open so he could squeeze some more out over the dildo, then slowly pushed it back inside Sherlock.

Sherlock cried out again and pulled hard on the wrist restraints. His arm muscles bulged and shifted with the tension in them.

John shifted the dildo back and forth, just a couple of centimetres at a time, slowly in and out, not enough to really count as fucking. The vibration transferred to his hand, and he imagined how it felt to Sherlock, sliding repeatedly over his oversensitised entrance, especially after it had been inside him so long. It had now been half an hour since he'd turned it on. John always kept strict track. They'd started out earlier with the blindfold, gag, and cock cage; sensory deprivation sometimes helped to shift Sherlock's gears down, but tonight, it had only forced Sherlock further inside, further into the vortex of his whirling thoughts and self-recriminations, and so John was trying to overwhelm him with the other extreme instead. It seemed to be working so far, keeping Sherlock's focus on his own body and its sensations, drawing out the chase of the elusive climax, which they both knew he would ultimately succeed at. Unlike the hunt for the young woman who had disappeared earlier that week.

Now, John focused on the way the toy moved in and out of Sherlock's arse, the squelch of the fresh lubricant being forced inside, the rush of his own blood in his ears, the throbbing of his cock, the fullness in his balls. Slowly, slowly. Slowing it all down. That's what Sherlock needed. What they both needed.

"Harder!" Sherlock insisted, clearly not in agreement with John's pace.

"We're not doing it like this, Sherlock. This isn't one of the choices," John informed him evenly, even as he applied pressure on the dildo to angle it up more firmly against Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock's pelvis jerked from side to side uncontrollably and the chain jangled against the spreader bar. "Oh god oh god oh god!" he panted, "Now now now now now!" Sherlock's head arched back and his jaw clenched, his abdominal muscles tightening with the onslaught of his imminent climax.

"Shhh..." John quickly flicked the dildo off and eased it back before Sherlock could come, leaving it dangling half out of Sherlock's arse. That had come more quickly than expected. Maybe Sherlock was really further along than John had thought. He waited a couple of seconds, both to regain his own presence of mind as well as to let Sherlock's blood ebb back down to its previous plateau. When he felt he could take a steady breath, he trailed his slick fingers along Sherlock's cock. It bounced eagerly. John's own cock was a solid rod in his trousers. Sherlock whimpered and sighed.

"You're fine," John soothed him. "You're not going to come yet. Just a little longer, hm?" John didn't think Sherlock was at his limit yet, but John himself nearly was. He might have to step out and take care of himself at this rate before he was able to continue.

"Please, John." Sherlock turned his head to rub his face against his shoulder. "I can't. I need it!" This time there was a hint of desperation and anger. Good. That was what needed to come out.

"I know," John said. He put his hands on Sherlock's knees and squeezed. "And you can. I think you just need a little more. Hm? You need a little more?" He ran his finger up and down Sherlock's cock again, pressing just a little bit harder in the divot of his frenulum.

Sherlock closed his eyes again. "Yes..." he exhaled, both relieved and resigned. He had probably guessed what was coming. Of course he had. John would never be able to surprise him. But that's not what this was about. On the contrary, part of the reason this worked was probably the fact that Sherlock was able to anticipate what was going to happen: that he was assured of the outcome, that gave him security even as he struggled and whinged and floundered at the mercy of his body. At the mercy of what John did to it, and with it. There were so many things out in the world that were out of Sherlock's control; out of both of their control. Here, they could create control even as they ceded it to each other.

John went over to the drawer in the dresser where they kept their toys. He took out the stainless steel glans ring and brought it back to the bed. Sherlock was watching him, his eyes dark and lazy, half-glazed with the flood of pleasure still coursing through his system. He was more than tempted to drop his clothes right then and there, climb on top of Sherlock, and give them both the release their bodies and minds were begging for. But it might not be enough yet. Not enough to drown out the self-doubt and remorse that would continue to keep Sherlock awake and churning if he were unable to silence them completely first.

And so he sat down once again and unhooked the nipple clamp chain from the spreader bar. Sherlock immediately took the opportunity to stretch his back and relax his legs. John then threaded the chain through the glans ring and thoroughly slicked the head of Sherlock's cock so that he could force the tight metal ring with the chain trapped inside it over the swollen, spongy head. He twisted the ring around until the metal ball was nestled firmly in that sensitive divot, then carefully nudged the chain in behind it. Sherlock's cock was impossibly hard now with his circulation impeded on both ends. John squeezed it and pumped it a few times, ran his thumb over the slit and pressed down a few times on the metal ball.

"That good?" John asked. "Not too tight?"

Sherlock hummed.

"Hold still." John gently pulled on the chain to shorten it until it was pulled taut between Sherlock's cock and nipples. All he had to do was stretch and writhe a bit, and both his nipples and cock would receive stimulation. The chain wasn't firmly attached, but the ring was so tight that John knew from previous experience it would stay in place fairly well. And if Sherlock did move around enough to dislodge it, it wouldn't hurt him.

"Legs up," John told Sherlock, and Sherlock bent his knees again. John once again attached the end of the chain to the bar, giving him a bit more slack this time to account for the detour through the glans ring.

Sherlock immediately tested the setup by gingerly sliding his feet down. The chain lifted his cock and dragged his nipples down nicely. Sherlock gasped, his mouth dropping open and his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, already beginning to retreat. John's own cock pulsed and he felt dampness seeping out. Sherlock started rocking ever so slightly back and forth, dragging the chain minutely across his frenulum and stretching his nipples so far John thought it must be bordering on painful, if not already past the point. He was already breathing hard again, the dark blue sheet under him darker still with his sweat in spots.

It wouldn't be much longer. He was going to need to get ready. His last act before leaving the room once more was to reach down between Sherlock's legs and nudge the dildo the rest of the way back inside. Then he turned it on. The muted buzzing started up again and Sherlock's eyes slammed shut as his body attempted to curl inward, lifting his feet off the bed, his hands wrapped around the straps of the restraints and pulling so hard his arms were shaking. John waited until the cramp had eased and Sherlock's feet were back on the mattress and he'd resumed his fitful rocking, trying desperately to catch every sensation his body was able to deliver.

John cleared his throat. "Five minutes, Sherlock." He wasn't at all sure Sherlock heard him.

******

Five minutes later, John stepped out of the bathroom. He had stripped to his pants and vest and done a hasty prep just in case. Sherlock was frantically humping empty air as he bounced his stuffed arse up and down on the bed, unable to come without any direct stimulation. His hair was sweaty and disheveled, and his face was contorted as if in pain. One of the nipple clamps had come off, and the chain was now slack enough that his cock, though still attached to the spreader bar by the ring around it, was slapping freely against his abdomen as he thrashed. John quickly checked that no damage had been done and unclipped the other clamp too, then circled to the foot of the bed and released Sherlock's ankles from the spreader bar.

"Shh, shh," John tried to calm him, climbing up in between his legs, which Sherlock let flop heavily down onto the mattress. John ran his hands up and down Sherlock's thighs, up to his hips, gradually enforcing a stop to his uncontrolled gyrations. "Here we go, almost over now, Sherlock. You're doing so well," John went on and on until Sherlock finally lay more or less still, although he couldn't entirely stop squirming with the vibrator still working away inside him and his chest was still heaving with his overworked breaths.

"I'm going to turn it off now, Sherlock," John warned him before reaching underneath him and bindly fumbling until he'd found the button to make the device fall still and silent. John lifted his head, and as he did, his eyes met Sherlock's watching him with an expression of dazed wonder, as if half confused what John was doing there, or perhaps how he himself had wound up in that position. Sherlock tried to raise his head a little bit further, maybe to see better, maybe to say something, but at that point, John found he couldn't wait another moment longer. He heaved himself up and lunged for Sherlock's lips. Their mouths met in a frantic, chaotic clash of breath and heat and wetness, whispers of praise and wordless affirmations. John settled with his legs on either side of Sherlock's body, his hands on Sherlock's face, in his hair, stroking up his arms and down his sides as he kissed him and kissed him.

"Please, John, John please..." The words finally broke through John's haze of lust and something else that they were both somehow loathe to name. Reining himself in, John knew he had to bring this to the conclusion Sherlock needed, in the way he needed. To continue like this would be a loss of control John wasn't sure either one of them was ready for yet. And so this is how it would be:

"God, Christ, all right, Sherlock; listen." John was breathing hard too now, and struggled to get his thoughts in order. Sherlock wasn't the only one who was running on empty; wasn't the only one who was emotionally drained and in need of whatever it was that only they could give each other.

John pressed his forehead against Sherlock's temple and said, soft, almost in his ear: "Here's your choice: I'll ride you. Yeah? You want that? Slick up your cock and put it to good use? Hm? Did a quick wash and stretch in the loo before, so I'm ready. Yeah? You like that?"

"John..." Sherlock moaned, barely coherent, and jerked at his bonds as if trying to reach for John.

"Yeah, I know you do," John said, and he couldn't help how unsteady his voice was because God help him, just the thought of that long, hot dick bareback up his arse now that it had been primed so long and well was almost enough to make him say fuck it and take matters into his own hands. But that wasn't how this went. "So we can do that," John said with what he thought was admirable restraint, "but you can't touch me. And the nipple clamps go back on but the vibrator comes out. I'll fuck myself on you as long as you want, and you can come whenever you want." Which probably wouldn't be long, John thought to himself.

"Or, or..." he went on, licking his lips and nipping at Sherlock's ear, "you can suck my cock and I'll untie your hands so you can touch me but you can't touch yourself. And the vibrator gets turned back on. You can come that way if you can, but otherwise you have to wait until after I've come." Which would also likely not take very long at this point.

John knew what he hoped Sherlock would pick, but he was also pretty sure what Sherlock wanted, and that was to make things more difficult for himself. He never took the easy way. Never took the low-hanging fruit. And so it was.

"The second one... John, untie me, the second one," Sherlock said, yanking repeatedly at the straps, and John considered for a very brief moment that maybe it wasn't the difficulty of the proposition that had made him choose that, but choose it he had, and John was going to get off either way, so it was honestly no skin off his nose.

John swiftly opened the cuffs and rubbed Sherlock's arms and hands and wrists for him, even though he said they felt fine and hadn't fallen asleep and when was John going to give him his dick like he'd promised, and John kissed Sherlock for a long while as Sherlock put his hands all over John: in his hair, on his arse, around his back, inside his pants, and John rather lost track of the plan for a bit until Sherlock's cock poked into his arse and reminded him it wasn't done with what it had come for.

So John dutifully separated himself from Sherlock's hands and lips and cock for a moment and applied himself to making sure Sherlock's arse was in tip-top condition for what it still had to do. The toy was removed and checked for signs of internal distress, the state of Sherlock's arsehole was declared to be fit for further use, lubricant was reapplied both inside and out, and Sherlock got onto his hands and knees and spread his cheeks wide with both hands so that John could properly seat the artificial phallus inside him. Deep.

"Deeper, John. I need a bigger one, I'm all stretched out."

"You aren't, you're just desensitised. Look, do you want me to take a picture? It's already barely going in, I'm having to force it." That was a very small lie: although John did have to apply some pressure, Sherlock's arsehole was very prettily swallowing the dildo. So prettily, in fact, that John had to take it out several times and slide it back in just to check that he wasn't imagining things at this point. By the time he was quite satisfied, Sherlock was once more breathing hard and his constricted genitals were quite a lurid colour where they hung -- or rather stood -- between his thighs.

John switched the dildo back on and enjoyed the way Sherlock's body automatically twitched to get away from the sudden sensation, then promptly arched back into it, seeking more. John obliged a bit by twisting the dildo around and hitting Sherlock's prostate once more, but then carefully pulled it back a couple of centimetres to ensure Sherlock's maximum frustration and focus while he sucked John's cock.

"On your back," John told him, "and both hands on me. If you can't comply, we'll tie them up again."

But Sherlock was too far gone -- exhausted and overstimulated and woozy -- to put up any more struggle. He flopped down on the bed, his head raised on two pillows, and moaned softly as the vibrator hammered away inside, shifting from side to side as he tried to shift it into a more profitable position, but it wasn't to be had.

"You still with me, Sherlock?" John asked gently from where he sat next to him, and put his hand on Sherlock's face. Maybe it was enough already. Maybe Sherlock had forgotten about the abused and mottled corpse they'd found. Too late, too late. Or if not forgotten, then at least locked away for the time being, tucked away in a secure corner of his mind palace where it wouldn't bother him for a few hours.

Sherlock's eyes blinked open and met John's. No, it was still there. Not forgotten, and not tucked away. But there was a peace there now too. An understanding. Not of what had happened, but of what was happening now. Of them. Of this. Of what they were. John kissed Sherlock again, tenderly, slowly, then swung his leg up over Sherlock so that his knees were on either side of his shoulders, steadied himself with one hand on the wall over the headboard, pulled his cock out of his pants and fed it to Sherlock.

Heat. Slick. Tongue. Lips. Heaven.

John groaned and closed his eyes. He held still as Sherlock adjusted himself so that his head was in a better position. Then Sherlock's hands were on his arse, encouraging John to thrust, and John slowly began to move. In and out, back and forth. Sherlock swallowed every inch John gave him. It wasn't going to take very long, but that was all right. Sherlock had already gotten what he needed. This was Sherlock giving John what he needed now. An assurance that he was wanted. In every way. That he was necessary. That no matter what else John failed at (if only he'd given Sherlock the message earlier, if only he'd remembered the name of the lab), he would always be able to give Sherlock this. He would always be able to do for Sherlock what no one else could, what no one else ever had.

Sherlock had one finger up John's arse now -- John hadn't said he could, but then he hadn't specifically said he couldn't, and Sherlock's other hand was rolling John's balls, so he did still have both hands touching John -- and the quick burst of pleasure when Sherlock brushed his prostate was something John wasn't about to fault him for. John clenched his arse around Sherlock's finger as he thrust more and more erratically into his mouth. Sherlock hummed and made encouraging sounds and took his hand off John's balls so that he could squeeze his arse and push John further into his mouth, and John was half worried he was choking him but only half because it felt so good and he started moving faster. Just a little, just enough to keep him moving up that scale, just enough to keep Sherlock on his toes.

But Sherlock was one step ahead, even now. He took his finger out of John's arse and his mouth off of John's cock, but before John had gathered the presence of mind to protest, Sherlock had dropped a glob of spit onto his first two fingers and wriggled them into John's arse, whilst with his clean hand he grasped John's cock and steadied it back into his mouth, and John was honestly not able to come up with a single reason why that shouldn't be allowed. Sherlock's fingers quickly found their mark, then pumped smoothly in and out with every push of John's cock into his mouth. It didn't take very much longer at all before John emptied what felt like the entire contents of his brain down Sherlock's throat.

John stayed there teetering for a few seconds, floating on the euphoric sensation of all being right in the world and gently, haphazardly swirling the remainder of his erection around inside Sherlock's mouth as he was licked clean.

Then he came to a bit, and heard the low buzzing still going, and Sherlock's uneven breaths. "Oh god, oh my god," he said, "come here, come on, this is you now, that's it," and on and on as John eased himself down next to Sherlock and kissed his face and his neck and started on down until Sherlock stopped him and held him and said, "Like this, John, please, I need--" Only he couldn't say what he needed, but John saw it in his butane-and-copper-flame eyes, so he stayed there and let Sherlock hold him.

"On or off?" John said, when he'd gathered himself enough to put two coherent words together

"On, I still-- I can't--" Sherlock whispered brokenly into John's hair.

"It's fine, never mind, I shouldn't have asked." John reached down and found Sherlock's cock. It was messy with lube and sweat and pre-ejaculate, and still trussed up, so John went easy at first, playing a little with the ring, twisting and teasing and pulling at the chain that still dangled from it, but even now, Sherlock didn't need easy. Sherlock's arms around him were tight so John wrapped his fist around Sherlock's girth and jacked him. Firmly, quickly. The vibrator buzzed. Sherlock squeezed. John pumped. Sherlock's breath in John's ear. Hot and ragged. John's name. _Now now now now now_. Sherlock's arse clenching, his pelvis jerking forward. Not quite enough. Faster. John's arm cramping.

"Come on, that's it, that's it. You've done it, you're there."

A low whine from the back of his throat. Iron bands around John's ribs. John kept his hand moving, kept it moving, nothing fancy, just rapid, straightforward friction, until Sherlock's keening broke down into gasps and his body tensed, shuddered, and jerked, and all the tension drained out of him.

John let him breathe for a few seconds before he reached down and switched off the vibrator, shifting a bit until he could pull it out. Sherlock groaned his discomfort.

"Shh, I know, not so fun now, is it, over in a jiff," John cajoled. As soon as he had it out, he slid away from Sherlock, who protested weakly, flopping a useless arm in John's direction. "Be right back, promise," John said and tottered into the bathroom, where he dropped the used toy into the sink and ran some water over it, cursorily washed his hands, and wet a flannel to bring back with him.

He wiped Sherlock down superficially, gently checked his arse, which was very red but not obviously injured, and finally eased the equipment off of his now flaccid genitals. He wrapped the two rings up in the flannel and left the bundle on the nightstand. Then he slid back into bed and lay close enough to feel Sherlock's body heat without quite touching him. This, too, was how it needed to be.

"All right?" John said softly after about a minute.

"Mm," Sherlock grunted. Then, after a few seconds: "You?"

"Yeah. Will be. Yeah." John's voice was rusty, thick already with the haze of approaching sleep.

Sherlock's hand breached the few centimetres separating them, bumping into John's hip under the cover. He let it rest there, his index finger lazily stroking John's hip a couple of times. Then it stopped, and John was asleep.


End file.
